


Fuel Behind the Fury

by rhodrymavelyne



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:15:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21562858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhodrymavelyne/pseuds/rhodrymavelyne
Summary: A quiet moment amidst the horror when Will Graham regards the wreckage of Hannibal’s house after finding Alana’s body, the wreckage left by the two men whom tug his loyalty in opposing directions.
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Fuel Behind the Fury

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the finale of the second season before Will sees Abigail. It addresses the almost classical mentorship rivalry between Hannibal and Jack over Will, how it brought them together and brought them to blows. I don’t own Hannibal but for the past few months, this series has owned me. :)

Such rage, such fury. Half the furniture was smashed, blood was spilled all over the kitchen. None of it was Alana’s. No, this must have been Hannibal Lecter’s and Jack’s. Two of the most cultivated, cunning men Will Graham had ever know, who’d laid out their intricate traps for each other, counting on Will to play his part in them. 

Only once they’d arrived, they’d started brawling like a couple of drunks in a bar, duking out over a woman they both wanted. Why? 

Jack’s wife, Bella, was slipping away from him. She’d Hannibal’s patient. What secrets had he whispered to her? Had he tried to play her against Jack the way he’d tried to play Will?

No, Will was fairly certain he hadn’t. Bella Crawford was one of the few people who brought out Hannibal Lecter’s gallantry, although she’d sat at Hannibal’s table and eaten his food. She’d been drawn into Hannibal’s web, just as Jack had been. Just as Miriam Lass had. Hannibal had snatched her away, only to give her back, broken and damaged, after destroying all hope Jack would ever see her again. 

All of this would fuel the fury behind Jack’s fists, but not Hannibal’s. None of this would shake his cool, draw out his own possessive rage. Jack would have take something Hannibal regarded as his, something which stirred his own passions, something like…

…Will felt his cheeks heat up. No, it couldn’t be. He couldn’t be what they were fighting over. 

He recalled the way Jack looked at him, saying that Hannibal thought Will was his man now. Jack believed Will was his. Only how could he be sure? Will himself was no longer certain. 

His uncertainty might have been infectious. Infectious enough to bring Jack and Hannibal to blows. 

Will shut his eyes, shuddering at his own detatchment from it all. Violence was something he observed, yet it took someone else to draw him into it. Someone else’s blows, someone else’s attack. Someone else’s murder. It had nothing to do with him, yet it intimately involved him every time. He’d fantasized about killing both of the men who’d given him purpose, meaning, and direction, wondered what it would be like to be free of both Jack Crawford and Hannibal Lecter.

What would he, Will Graham be without either one of them. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps they’d provided the force and drive which he could channel his imagination into. 

He wished often he could hate them, both of them, but the truth was he needed them. He’d pitted them against each other and they’d thrown that force in all its violence at the other man, the rival for his loyalty. 

Perhaps he himself had been curious if they would fight over him. If they thought he was worth fighting for. He’d felt like nothing more than a tool or a plaything for so long. Maybe he wanted to know once and for all if he was more than that. 

Be careful what you wish for. Maybe that warning would eventually sink Will’s imagination. Only perhaps Hannibal was right. Perhaps he was too curious, not only for ideals, but for common sense. 

He’d walked through many a haunted house, ghosts waiting for him within his imagination, only this time, the ghosts existed already in his heart and mind before he’d ever crossed the threshold. 

Would he ever be ready for them? 

Not this time.


End file.
